


Time, Gentlemen!

by MsJones



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Adultery, Cultural Innacuracies, Erotica, F/M, Horny!Altaïr, Romance, strange woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsJones/pseuds/MsJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mad at Malik, Altaïr goes for a drink before a mission, and is seduced by the bar mistress</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time, Gentlemen!

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own or profit from Assassin’s Creed or any relevant characters, which remain the property of Ubisoft.

Altaïr was fuming as he climbed from the Assassin's Bureau in Jerusalem. Malik was being unreasonable, and self-righteous. Menial task, indeed! Despite his errors, Al Mualim trusted Altaïr to take care of one in a series of important assassinations; nine men to be precise. "Give me names, and I will give you blood," he had said to his master. Bloodshed was hardly menial! It was true that Altaïr had been responsible for the loss of Malik's younger brother, Kadar, and also Malik's left arm, but there was no excuse for the way he had just been spoken to. After all, it wasn't as if Malik had never killed anyone in his life. Like Altaïr, he was an Assassin too, or at least he had been before the incident in Solomon's Temple. Altaïr regretted the episode, particularly since he, Malik and Kadar had once been close friends, but today Malik's attitude had really wound him up. He was angry, and that was fine, but it was like he was jealous of Altaïr for more than still having two arms. He clenched his fists in frustration as he tapped his foot on the ledge, preparing to jump down. His soul burned with something, but was it anger, hatred, frustration, or all three? Surely Malik understood his position; he had work to do. But first, a drink. Heaven knows he needed one after nearly losing it with Malik. Really, the man was lucky to still be alive after that exchange.

Altaïr knew there was a tavern nearby. Heading for it, he tried to put the bitter conversation he had just had out of his mind. Perhaps a draught of wine or two would steady his nerves. Besides, the stifling heat of Jerusalem was not helping his foul mood. A moment or two out of the blazing sun would surely help as well. Al Mualim was a patient man; Altaïr was certain he could wait. Walking up to the bar, avoiding the gaze of the off-duty soldiers who were the main patrons, he leant on the bar, making eye contact with the bar mistress. "Hello, young man," she said with a smile. "What can I get for you?"

Altaïr managed a smile in return, noticing the woman's features in the half-light of the tavern. She was... fairly advanced in years, perhaps in her forties, but Altaïr noticed that she had once been beautiful. Perhaps in a different light, in a different city, she still would be.

"Just a wine, please," Altaïr replied amiably, reaching into his pouch for a couple of coins, which he held out to her, between his fingers.

Taking the money, she smiled, and turned to pour the drink. Altaïr ogled the woman's figure. She was curvy, her waist cinched in, giving her the look of an hourglass. Underneath her simple dress, Altaïr supposed she was ravishing, and allowed himself to imagine her naked, awaiting him, with her ample bosom and welcoming, open thighs. Finally, he understood the allure of an older woman his peers so often joked and bragged of.

She turned back to him with his drink. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked. Altaïr could think of plenty of things!

"No, thank you," he answered, before changing his mind. "Wait. I was wondering... when do you finish tonight?"

The lady smiled kindly. "My husband should be here soon," she told him. "He's a merchant; after he's finished for the day he comes and picks me up from work. Isn't that sweet?"

_Damn it,_ Altaïr cursed inwardly, taking a sip of his drink. Swallowing his pride as well as the wine, he smiled despite himself. "He must really love you. It... it's good that he wants to protect you."

The lovely bartender nodded. "Yes. Especially because of the recent mysterious disappearances," she confided. "I'm very lucky to have someone like him."

"No, I would say that _he_ was the lucky one." Altaïr gently took the lady's hand, and kissed it, hoping he wasn't being out of line. He noticed his acquaintance blush a little, allowing her soft fingertips to brush his as she took her hand away.

"I thank you, kind stranger," she said. Furtively looking around the bar, she saw the way was clear. She leaned forward and quickly kissed Altaïr on the cheek.

This time it was Altaïr's turn to blush, but he did so less obviously, underneath his cowl. Why had she just done that, if she was happy with her husband? He went back to his drink and saw, out of the corner of his eye, that she was now talking to another man, who was not showing her the respect that she deserved. He felt like saying something but didn't want to draw attention to himself. He had found that out already, to his cost. He hoped that her husband would come in and stop this. Returning to his drink, he sighed.

However, the ramblings of the customer got very hard to ignore. "Do you mind?" the agitated patron growled at the bartender. "I said I wanted a _full_ cup, you ridiculous woman! How is that hard to understand? For pity's sake!"

The barmaid's eyes glazed with tears, which she promptly blinked back. "Yes sir," she said, dejectedly, taking back the half-empty goblet, which was only half-empty as the clumsy man had spilled half of it on the wooden bar top, and was refusing to admit his mistake.

Altaïr shook his head. He wanted to take the lovely lady in his strong arms and take her away from all this. She deserved so much better, better than this drudgery, better than being treated that way. He hoped her husband truly was a good man. Stalking over to the rude customer, who was clad in a black smock, with a bushy black beard, he cleared his throat. "That lady is trying to provide a service for you," he told the man. "Treat her with a little more respect."

The bearded man sneered, his lip curling. "And who might you be?" he asked, eyeing Altaïr belligerently.

"I'm her husband," lied Altaïr. "Fully armed and trained to kill." His right hand patted his sword holster, feeling the comforting weight of his weapon. "So I think it is in your best interest that you have a civil tongue in your head." He glared back at the man. "Do you understand?"

The man in black nodded briskly, his wide eyes facing forward, too terrified to look Altaïr in the eyes, fearing it may be the last thing he ever did.

Smiling ironically, Altaïr patted the man's shoulder, with a little more force than the usual friendly social gesture. He would have dearly loved to rend this rogue's tongue from his mouth with the help of his blade, but thought better of it.

The barmaid finally turned back, smiling weakly, eyes cast down, trying not to make eye contact with the brute in black. By this time, Altaïr had returned to his original place at the bar, nursing his drink, acting as if nothing had happened. However, she knew that he had done something, for she approached him again.

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

Altaïr acted surprised. "Whatever for?" he asked.

The lady smiled. "He apologised," she told him. "A real heartfelt apology as well." She reached for Altaïr's hand and grabbed it. "I figured you'd said something to him. How can I ever repay you?"

Underneath his hood, Altaïr smirked. He had a fair few ideas, even if she did have a husband. Instead, he pushed his empty cup towards her. "Another drink would be nice," he said, biting his lip surreptitiously.

Smiling wryly, the barmaid reached for the cup, touching Altaïr's hand quite deliberately. "Oh, you are so naïve, youngster," she sighed, with a longing look. "Tell me, what is your name?"

Altaïr's mind began racing. A married woman was flirting with him, openly and obviously. As she waited for his answer she stroked his fingers. He seriously didn't know whether to run and save his own skin, and her honour and reputation, or stay and see how far this would go.

He swallowed, to try and counter his dry throat, which always happened when he got nervous or scared. This was one of the very rare occasions that he was feeling both. "Altaïr," he finally answered. "Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad."

The barmaid smiled and shook the hand she was holding. "Nice to meet you... Altaïr. My name is Bel." She grinned wickedly.

Altaïr felt something stirring inside him. He lowered his free hand down to his crotch. Yes. Something was definitely there. He withdrew his hand, and leant closer to the bar, lest it be noticed. "That's a...very nice name," he continued awkwardly, trying to make conversation, but knowing what her ultimate aim was.

Bel smiled at him for a few more seconds, her eyes dancing with desire. "Hmm..." she purred, "the wine bottle is empty, but I've got more in the back." She squeezed his hand, not relenting her soft grip. "Care to accompany me to fetch some?"

Now nervous and sweating, Altaïr pulled on his collar to try and relieve the heat, shy of removing his cowl; he did not want those soldiers seeing his face; not until he felled them in battle, at least. "I'm sure you can go by yourself," he said reassuringly. "I'll not let anything happen in here." He knew that if he was led into the 'back room', it would be very dangerous, especially if Bel's husband turned up.

"Come on, Altaïr," Bel said, coaxingly, still not letting go of his now sweating hand. "What about the mysterious disappearances lately." She squeezed him, and Altaïr felt himself get even stiffer. Glancing over at the other patrons, Bel whispered, "I don't trust those soldiers." She pouted and widened her eyes. "Please, Altaïr?"

That doe-eyed look sent Altaïr's mind into a frenzy. She wanted him so badly, that was clear, and if he was honest, he'd had lustful thoughts about her, never thinking it would be a reality. Were her breasts really as big and gorgeous as he had been imagining when he had first eyed her a half hour or so ago? His left hand found its way to her chest, he fingered her protruding nipples. God, she was horny as hell, too.

"Interesting," Bel said, looking down at Altaïr's left arm. "Nice armour. What are you, a mercenary or something?" She had spotted the bracer that concealed his blade.

"You could say that," Altaïr replied, without a moment's hesitation. "I'm actually investigating the... disappearances." He smiled at his own brilliance, his excellent, airtight cover story. It was amazing what inspiration could come from fondling a woman's chest!

"So, you are the perfect person to escort me. Protect me from those brutal soldiers!" Bel said lustily.

Altaïr sighed. "Okay, I will." He kissed Bel's hand, let go of her, and dexterously hopped over the bar with little effort.

Bel grabbed Altaïr's hand again at the earliest opportunity. "Come on," she whispered, leading him through the door into the back room. It was surprisingly light and airy for such a dank tavern, and there was a straw mattress in the corner of the room, which Bel was dragging Altaïr over to.

"Just a second," Altaïr observed. "There aren't any bottles in this room."

Bel grinned and put her arms around Altaïr's shoulders. "Of course not, silly, they're all in the cellar."

"Oh..." Altaïr regarded Bel in this new light. She still _was_ very pretty, despite being quite a bit older than him. There were a few tiny wrinkles around her eyes, and lips (which were rose-petal-like in colour and texture, and just dying to be kissed) otherwise she was absolutely gorgeous. He reached up and began to stroke her honey-coloured hair, unhitching her ponytail, allowing her wavy golden locks to cascade around her neck and shoulders.

Bel tugged at Altaïr's cowl, and removed it completely. Her pale blue eyes met his dark ones, and she sighed. "You're more handsome than I thought," she breathed, kissing him lightly on the lips.

Altaïr couldn't help smiling at that statement. "Well," he said, kissing Bel's soft forehead, "you're so beautiful." His hands began exploring her torso, her ample behind, her large breasts, longing to get beyond the cotton material. He considered sneaking his blade out just to rip her dress off; then he reminded himself to take things slowly. It wasn't just the act of lovemaking, but the anticipation of it that was special. It was difficult, though, especially when he was with a woman who wanted him so badly.

"I want to see you naked," Bel whispered, reluctantly letting go of Altaïr. "Take your armour off, Mr. Mercenary, and let me see what you've got." Seductively, she licked her rosebud lips, watching him with a sideways glance, slowly pulling up her dress, revealing her fleshy thighs.

Impatiently, Altaïr unclipped his weapon holster and placed it carefully at the foot of the mattress. He looked over at Bel who was peeling off her dress, as he removed his sash and tunic, and placed them over his weapons, to conceal them. He sat on the mattress to pull off his boots, and noticed Bel was standing over him, wearing nothing but her undershirt. Her left hand was between her legs, the middle finger flicking herself gently. She wore an expression of ecstasy on her pretty face.

Altaïr promptly removed his trousers and shorts in one passionate tug, and kicked them to one side. Lying down upon the mattress, he handled himself gently, his right hand playing softly up and down. He watched with interest what Bel was doing to herself; whatever she was doing was making her pant and moan. His movements became shorter and more rapid; it felt better that way.

Bel stopped pleasuring herself to remove the last of her clothes, finally revealing her bosom to Altaïr. They were far bigger than he imagined, but no less beautiful. He longed to touch them in all their bare glory, so he left himself alone, and beckoned for her to join him on the bed.

She knelt over Altaïr's muscular chest, and leant down. "I bet you weren't expecting this to happen to you today, Altaïr," she asked him.

Altaïr shook his head, as he reached up to finally gently massage Bel's breasts, rubbing his calloused thumbs gently over her erect nipples. Smiling, he couldn't stop thinking how jealous Malik would be if he told him what had occurred today.

"What are you grinning at?" Bel said, in an accusatory tone. "You're not thinking about going back to all your mercenary friends about how you scored, are you?" She gave him a scornful look, despite the fact that her hard nipples were now in Altaïr's wet mouth. "Because...uhhh... this has to... ahhh... stay private, ok... Mmmmm... between us." Her grunts and sighs of pleasure were probably due to the kisses being delivered to her aroused nipples, and peachy-soft bosoms.

Altaïr stalled a little. How on Earth did she know what he was thinking? He decided to clear his mind of all conscious thought, and concentrate only on the feelings. Bel's tits were amongst the most exquisite he had ever seen, and he could not help but play with them. He tilted his head up and met Bel's gaze, which seemed to have been tamed. "Such lovely breasts," he whispered. _Her husband is so lucky,_ he thought, _he gets this nightly._

Bel moaned. "I think I'm ready," she sighed, lying face-up, next to Altaïr on the mattress.

Altaïr laughed at her frankness. "Okay," he said, kneeling astride Bel's wide hips. "Brace yourself; I have been known to injure," he added cockily, sliding himself gently into Bel's surprisingly moist womanly parts.

Bel started to giggle at the braggart Altaïr's words; her laughter turned to animalistic grunts of pleasure as he eased himself up and down. He leant down to one of her ears. "Shush," he whispered. "They'll hear us."

"I don't care!" Bel snarled. "I love you!"

Altaïr allowed himself a chuckle. "But sweetheart," he breathed, pushing himself a little deeper, testing his partner's limits; not that she seemed to have any. "We've only just met; we don't even know each other, honestly."

"And yet, here we are," Bel sighed her reply, her nails digging into Altaïr's impressively firm bottom. "Making love... like we've known each other forever..."

Altaïr shook his head. She had got him there. "I suppose," he conceded. He placed his hands upon her shoulders, and moved his hips as quickly as he could against her, enjoying the pleasant friction he was creating.

It wasn't long before he felt his heart pumping faster, and a throbbing in his manhood. The warm-all-over sensation would come next, followed by a wave of euphoric pleasure that would tire him out. He stopped, pulling out ever so slightly, holding himself firmly, waiting for the erotic palpitations to subside. _Not yet,_ he thought, _not just yet, Altaïr. Bide your time..._

Bel looked up at him furiously, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Why'd you stop?" she demanded breathlessly.

"D'you want me to come yet?" Altaïr asked sarcastically.

"Well, it'd be over with," Bel retorted.

Altaïr laughed, reached down, and finally kissed those rose-petal lips, parting them with a lashing of his tongue. She responded, pressing her face closer to his, her nails making such violent contact with his skin, that he swore she had drawn blood. "Am I really that bad?" he asked.

Bel shook her head. "No," she answered, "not at all. In fact, you're the best I've ever had."

Altaïr wanted to believe that statement, he really did. However, he was sure it was just a little ego-boost to get him to resume action. He smiled down at her. "I bet you say that to all the boys." He bent down for another little kiss.

"No..." Bel twirled a hank of her dark blonde hair around her finger. "Just you, Altaïr. Because it's true..."

Altaïr responded by slowly entering her again. He placed a finger on the top of her opening and gently moved it with his own rhythm. Bel's adorable little sighs, and urgent hip movements told him he was doing something right. He kept playing with her as he took his pleasure. It was only fair, he supposed.

Gradually, those feelings began to return, so he stopped himself, moving his finger with urgency, determined to let Bel experience an orgasm. She sighed, clenched her jaw, and grabbed his hand. "Slow down, slow down," she sighed. "Not so hard."

"Sorry," Altaïr apologised, smiling awkwardly.

"Do it the way you were before," she said, fingering his hand, wet with her juices. "That was nice." Her eyes flitted closed as Altaïr began rubbing at her, as softly and carefully as he had done before. "Yes...  that's right," she sighed. "Keep doing that... don't stop..."

His heart rate slowing back down, Altaïr decided it was safe to continue. Though he wasn't sure if next time he would be able to stop himself. He watched Bel, eyes still closed, her tongue lashing her lips, soft moans escaping her. He wondered how close she was, as he moved his hips slowly and deliberately. It wouldn't be long for him, he knew this now. The sensation was impossible even to postpone now.

Bel sucked in her breath and bit down on her lip as she came. The sensation was sudden, and made it very hard to stay quiet. "Oh..." she sighed. "Oh, Altaïr..." She flung her arms around his shoulders and kissed him wildly.

Surprised, Altaïr quickly withdrew his finger, embracing Bel in return. He was close to climax himself, so he kept going as she moaned and clawed at his naked back. He threw his head back, trying to keep from making a sound as he orgasmed hard into Bel. A small sigh escaped him, before he exhaled hard, and threw himself back into Bel's welcoming embrace, resting his head on her soft, fleshy chest. He felt her hand run through his hair, her fingers unintentionally tickling him behind the ear. He smiled to himself; he liked that a lot.

"Thank you so much, sir," she sighed. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome," Altaïr replied, looking up at the woman he had just made love to, hardly daring to believe what had happened. He wanted to lie like this with the beautiful bartender all afternoon, but he knew it wasn't possible. He knelt up and stretched, looking back down at Bel, who was still breathing heavily, with pleasurable sighs. Her arms were still around his waist.

Altaïr leant down and kissed her cheek. "I have to go now," he told her.

Bel nodded. "I know," she agreed. "I suppose I'd better go as well. My husband might already be here," she mentioned.

Reluctantly, he rose from the bed, kissing Bel's cheek once more just before he went. As he dressed he couldn't help but wonder. He noticed a lack of guilt in her voice. Was the whole 'I have a husband' routine just a ruse to get him hooked, making her at first seem unobtainable, to tease him? Did he not treat her right, so she was seeking comfort wherever she could? Or, was she really a heartless, selfish whore, who thought nothing on cheating on a caring, genuine man for a cheap shot on a mattress in a stuffy room in the back of a tavern? Whatever the reason, Altaïr was nevertheless  glad he could help, and was feeling a lot better. His rage and frustration were gone.

"Ready, Mr. Mercenary?" Bel asked, tying her hair back as Altaïr refastened his sword holster. He nodded.

Once again, Bel took him in her arms. "You know, I really do like you, Altaïr," she said. "I wish you could stay a while longer..."

"What of your husband?" questioned Altaïr. He was rather curious about Bel's marital situation. One minute she freely acknowledged her marriage, the next it seemed to have escaped her mind. She was, beyond doubt, an enigma, a luscious, wonderful enigma.

"I'm sure he can wait," Bel answered casually. "He is... a very patient, understanding man." Her eyes looked watery, for some reason. _Guilt?_ he thought to himself. He sighed blissfully as she reached up and stroked his stubbly jaw. "Much like you," she added.

_Why is she doing this?_ Altaïr agonised, head aching with the effort of trying to understand it all. Or was it the after-effects of the wine? He managed a smile. "I must say, Bel," he said, "that I've never met a woman quite like you." This was true, in so many ways.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, Mercenary," she whispered in return, watching as Altaïr headed towards the window and opened it. He climbed on the ledge, and was crouched there, about to deftly leap out when Bel asked:

"When can I see you again?"

_Really?_ Altaïr thought, sighing under his breath, bringing a hand to his forehead, thumb and middle fingers resting on his temples. Once again, she seemed to have conveniently forgotten about the fact that she had a husband! What was _with_ this woman?

He took a breath and looked over his shoulder at her. "I'll be around," he answered, trying to sound reassuring, before jumping the short drop, onto the ground.

Walking calmly away, he shook his head. Sure his agitation over Malik had gone, only to be replaced with agitation over something worse: women. He groaned to himself. So beautiful and tempting, but so frustrating, and confusing.

At that moment, Altaïr decided he would never again even attempt to understand them.

FIN


End file.
